The Mysterious Tower
by Gawaine
Summary: Sequel to the Darkness of the Soul. Harry Potter has managed to become unwanted even at Durmstrang, but there's still a prophecy following him around which won't let him leave the Wizarding World alone.
1. Summer with the Malfoys

**Harry Potter and the Mysterious Tower**

  


Summary: Sequel to the Darkness of the Soul. Harry Potter has managed to become unwanted even at Durmstrang, but there's still a prophecy following him around which won't let him leave the Wizarding World alone. 

**CHAPTER ONE - Summer with the Malfoys**
    
    
    The future is a race between education and catastrophe.
    -- H.G. Wells
    

When Harry Potter had been asked where he pictured himself a few years out of Hogwarts, his honest answer had been that he didn't expect to survive that long. He had certainly never thought that he'd be in a country cottage in Scotland with this set of people.

There was something surreal about blowing out the candles on a cake in front of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Ginny's constant mumbling behind him didn't help Harry's perspective any, either. She had settled down into a pattern - she'd spend a few hours each day recounting each time that she'd been failed by Harry, and then she'd start in on her brothers, her parents, and her Professors. Finally, she'd settle into what seemed like honest nightmares - at least, she was making statements that didn't seem to apply to anything he'd heard of.

"Don't go into the Tower, Harry." She was repeating it now. This was one of her most common dreams. He wasn't sure what it was about, just that he seemed to be there. It also sounded like Hermione was in it -- Ginny would call out her name sometimes, too.

They'd been here since early March, after taking their time finding their way up here. The cottage was owned by the Malfoys under another name - the Foxhearts, which was the name of an older branch of the family. It didn't have any house elves, which meant that Harry did most of the work around the house. Narcissa had ventured out and bought the cake from a store, however, which was more effort than other people he'd lived with had gone through.

Harry was twenty years old, now. In some countries, he'd still be considered a child, even having lived through - and fought in - a war with the potential to change the world.

He'd made a wish as he blew out the candles, but it wasn't immediately granted. He'd hoped that he could start again - that he could wake up back in Hogwarts, before the Orpheus curse.

He'd been awake the night before at midnight, still half expecting the flurry of owls from his years between Hogwarts semesters. He knew they wouldn't come, but somehow expected that they would, despite the fact that Ron was dead, Ginny was here with him, and he'd told Hermione to get lost.

Harry cut into the cake, and served up a piece for each of them. Lucius dug into his greedily, quickly covering his face with chocolate icing. Narcissa ate only small bites of hers.

When he was done with his cake, Harry picked up Narcissa's plate and his own, and started to head to the kitchen, but Narcissa touched his arm gently. "Take care of these later. You're forgetting something." She pulled out a small stack of packages from under the table.

Presents. Harry was shocked.

Narcissa continued, timidly. "I didn't really know anything that you wanted -- at least, not anything that I could give you." Her eyes flicked to Ginny. "I miss buying things for my son."

Harry opened the presents, trying to show an appropriate amount of appreciation. She had gotten him a nice leather jacket, black leather boots, black robes, a book on popular curses, and a Muggle men's magazine. Harry tried not to laugh at the preposterous promises on the front of it, or the pictures of men in leather trousers.

"Draco always liked that one," she said. "I'm not sure why."

Harry thanked her, and then carried the dishes to the kitchen. It was funny how you could get into a routine that let you not think about how bad your life had become. He wondered what, if anything, could break him out of it. Would it be a bunch of Aurors arriving? Would Lucius awake some day, and put him out of his misery? Would a Dark Wizard arrive to try to convert him again -- to bring him the rest of the way over to the dark side?

There was a scratching at the window. Harry pulled out his wand and moved towards it. With a gasp, he opened it wide, letting in Hedwig, who circled and then landed, looking proud of herself. She presented a talon.

Harry looked with misgivings at the note, but didn't move to untie it from her. At least it wasn't a Howler, but he couldn't think of anything he would want to hear. What could it say? Nothing good, he thought.

Hedwig was starting to look impatient. She was still holding out one talon, and Harry wondered just how long she could keep it up. The look on her face clearly warned him not to ignore her.

Harry reached down and untied the note, and Hedwig nipped his hand. His own punishment for not moving fast enough, he thought. At least Hedwig was satisfied with a little skin and blood. The others who cried out for his punishment wouldn't be satisfied until there was nothing left of him.

There were two notes here, two notes on one parchment, from two different people. He recognized both sets of handwriting. The first was from Kirsten. She said only that she had used a Durmstrang enchantment to enable the note carrier to find him, but that she couldn't do it again. She wished that he would consider visiting her over the summer, or that he would send a note.

The second part was longer, and it was from the person he both most and least wanted to hear from.

Dear Harry,

I wish I had been able to really talk to you before you left Durmstrang. I don't think that things are as bad as you think; there has to be a way for you to survive this.

There's something that I should tell you. Kirsten made me promise that I wouldn't chicken out at the last minute, and it's only her insistence that's making me say it. That, and the fact that she says she won't send you a thing if I don't.

I love you, Harry. There, I've said it. I feel like such a schoolgirl putting it in black and white, but there it is.

Now, down to business.

The prophecy has some sort of enchantment on it to make it impossible to copy down. It's like being Unplottable; you can talk about it all you want, you just can't write it down that simply. I've been researching possible counter-charms in Johansen's Guide to Magical Countermeasures, but I couldn't wait to find one to write you.

The gist of the prophecy, though, is that you still have a choice. I'm not sure what that choice is, or when you will have to make it, but the time hasn't passed yet. While I don't know when you will have to make the choice, I do know where. There's a tower on an island north of Scotland. It's nothing too impressive, but it's known as a place Dark Wizards have met before. Its name is Torr Tiom'Chaorach, which is a story in and of itself.

If you never go to the tower, you will not have to make the choice. However, prophecies are not usually that easy to avoid, unless they come from a certain soon-to-be-former Professor of Hogwarts.

If you do have to face the prophecy, Harry, I'm certain that you will make the right choice. I know we didn't talk much last year, but I saw enough to know that you were the same Harry I've always known. Please, Harry, I know it doesn't look like there's any way out of this, but please don't think that it's all over.

Kirsten says I'm about at the limit of what her spell will let me send, so she's making me stop now. It's probably for the best. Just remember, Harry, I'll always care.

With Love,

Hermione

Harry put the note down when he was done. He looked like he had been stupefied.

He just stood there for a moment. He could feel Narcissa's eyes on him. He might as well ask. "Have you heard of the tower...the Torr Tiom'Chaorrach?" He held out the letter sideways, still not looking her in the face.

Narcissa read it quickly, and then smiled. "It sounds like you won't need to ask after Pansy Parkinson after all." She handed the letter back to him.

Harry shook his head in denial. "It's nice of her to say... what she said... but I can't be with her."

"Harry, you're not a Muggle. You should know that there are more possibilities than what you can see. Don't say can't."

"If I was a Muggle, I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Don't be too sure." Narcissa was silent. "There's almost always a way to get out of problems if you look hard enough, if you choose to risk what it takes."

"Well, what's my way out of this?"

"It's not the tower."

There was something in the way she said it that made Harry believe that she wasn't saying everything she knew. He turned, looking at her. "What do you know?"

"I'm not sure. I know that Lucius said that there was a tower that Voldemort thought would bring him immortality. He said that Voldemort couldn't use it, though. I'm not sure why."

"You'd think he would have tried anyway."

"Lucius said that he _couldn't_. He was pretty evasive about it. This was before I really knew how closely Lucius was working with him."

"Can you think of anyone else that would know anything about it?"

Narcissa shrugged. "Most of the Dark Wizards that I know are in Azkaban. I'd ask Lucius, but he would probably bark like a dog." Harry could tell that thinking about Lucius' mental state was painful to her, and that her cavalier statements just covered how much it hurt.

"Well, I'm not breaking anyone else out of Azkaban to ask them. Who else would know?"

Narcissa shook her head. "I'm not sure. It sounds like your friend there might know more."

Harry wasn't sure he liked that idea. "It's not safe for me to get close to her right now. Besides, if she had a good resource on the tower, she would have mentioned it. She would have used up all her space on a bibliography if she had anything."

"Well, you could attack the problem from the other direction. Instead of trying to find Dark resources on the Tower, you could try to find out more about the prophecy. That's probably too obvious, though. Your friend probably would have tried all the resources in that area."

Harry looked at her oddly. "You know, you may have something there. She doesn't think much of Divination, and I can think of at least one resource that she never would have even considered. Thank you for your help."

Narcissa nodded. "You're quite welcome." She sighed, and moved towards the door."I think I'll go check on Lucius and Ginny. Let me know if you need anything."

Harry nodded absently. He was thinking about what he would need for the next step -- his Cloak, his Broomstick, his wand, his robes, and, just in case of emergency, an extra pair of socks.

~.~.~

Kirsten closed the door to her office firmly behind Hermione, their goodbyes said. Kirsten was almost sorry to see Hermione go, despite their rivalries. There were a few advantages though, including the fact that she could put her own plans into action without Hermione's interference. While Miss Granger had no official power at Durmstrang, she had a strong will and the ability to make that will known. There were some things that Kirsten had planned which she knew would not stand up to Hermione's review. 

Kirsten carefully latched her door, and called up for a pitcher of water and two glasses from the kitchen. She pulled out her wand, and put silencing wards all around the room. Then she walked over to her desk. Opening a drawer, she removed a small glass sphere, one that was mostly clear with just a hint of darkness. She placed the sphere carefully on a velvet cloth on the floor, and removed a silver hammer from the drawer, along with a wand that she'd saved from being broken not long before. Muttering an incantation, she brought the hammer down sharply on the sphere.

The glass shattered. There was a wailing sound, an outrush of wind, as particles seemed to whirl inside a cloud of smoke. The particles started to group together, and the wail became a cry. 

A skeleton formed from the magical dust, and then muscles clumped onto bones. Clothes appeared over newly formed flesh, a black robe with a cowl, black boots, and black leather gloves.

The new arrival slumped to the ground. His scream faded out, his voice almost entirely gone. Kirsten hoped that she wasn't making a mistake, but she wasn't sure what else she could do to help Harry, and he deserved whatever she could do for him. She offered a glass of water to her guest, and then sat, waiting, as he drained it. She hoped that she could control him -- Harry didn't need to have any more surprises right now.


	2. Return to the Scene

CHAPTER TWO - Return to the Scene
    
    
    Don't let go of what you've got hold of,
    until you have hold of something else.
    -- First Rule of Wing Walking
    

Harry rode his broomstick out and away from their hiding place under the cover of twilight, a Disillusionment charm on him. He couldn't just Apparate from there without raising attention from the Ministry, and his target was also inside Britain, so Apparating there was out of the question.

Harry had very little idea of how to get where he was going. It wasn't that he had never been there; he was going to the place that he had called home for seven years, after all. The problem was that it was enchanted to be difficult to find directly. He was going to have to get there somewhat indirectly, which could pose its own problems.

He'd have to make his way to Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts Express train station, and then find his way from there. He hoped that the Charm and his black robes would be enough for him to blend in. He also hoped that there would be the right combination of people there, the term not having started yet.

Getting that far took a number of hours, just enough time for the reality of what he was doing to sink in. He was going back to Hogwarts, a place that had been both friendly and fearsome to him over the years. Almost every important event in his life had centered around the school, and he wondered if this visit would qualify for inclusion as one of those events.

There were butterflies in his stomach as the station came into view. He wasn't only apprehensive about the chance of being caught. He was scared of what the faculty would say to him if they ran into him. He could face Trelawney, who after all would mainly be surprised that he was still alive, but how could he face McGonagall or Dumbledore? He hoped that he could avoid that being a problem.

He'd decided to brace his old Divination's professor on a whim, but he couldn't think of what else to do. While Professor Trelawney's predictions had only proven true twice, she did have a good knowledge of Divination resources.

The station was lit up, which surprised Harry. It was usually left dark during the school year, when the Hogwarts Express wasn't running. He was even more suprised when he saw the carriages lined up, waiting. It was only the beginning of August, not the end -- it was weeks before the students were due here. Something wasn't normal.

~.~.~

Severus Snape was pacing in his Dungeon. He had feared this week for most of the summer, feared the reminders that would come with it. He knew what most of them thought of him, and he'd realized that they weren't all wrong. 

He had spent the summer trying to redefine himself through a strange sort of penance. His penance hadn't been ordered by Albus precisely, but the Headmaster always seemed to have something for him to do. The tasks had been welcome, even if they were a strain on his sense of self.

Everyone knew that Severus Snape did not hand Canary Creams to graduating Slytherins. The thought would never have crossed anyone's mind, which is probably why he'd been able to get so many of them. Everyone also knew that Severus would never prank a Gryffindor, as he would much rather just punish them. He'd been amazingly satisfied with proving them wrong, with the use of a supply of practical joke items from the Weasley's shop in Diagon Alley. 

He still didn't feel totally satisfied. As much fun as it was to pull a few pranks on unsuspecting students, he still felt like a wolf that was making amends by comforting some sheep. He was still Severus, and that still wasn't good enough.

Tonight, the sheep would come back, and he knew that most of them would still shun him. A few might be glad to see him, mostly because they hadn't been the ones he had attacked over the years, and they, too, had built themselves up on the misery of others.

He thought about avoiding the event entirely, but he knew that would just delay the inevitable. Besides, the Headmaster had been quite clear that he was expected to be there.

Sometimes, he wondered what the Headmaster was trying to accomplish by his assigned penances. While Severus enjoyed surprising the students, he would never really be a prankster. He enjoyed doing things that were different from his usual behavior, partly because it made him feel like he was really a new person. He wasn't, though, and he knew it. He had done things that left people in real pain, and making up for it would require more than just changing his image now.

Severus sighed, and looked down at his desk. The artifact there was one that was never meant for his hands. Its creators certainly would have thought so -- from time to time, it still flashed taunts from them. Dumbledore had given him the Map over the summer, requesting that he find the collapsed secret passageways that it demonstrated and fix them. He hadn't asked for it back, yet, and Snape hadn't volunteered. 

Tapping the Map, he gave the code phrase, an evil smirk on his face. "I solemnly swear," he said dryly, "that I am up to no good."

The Map's surface swirled into view, showing Hogwarts. The guests apparently weren't at Hogwarts yet. He still had a little more time, although not enough to actually get anything done.

He rolled up the Map, putting it neatly in his inside robe pocket, next to the other item that had occupied his mind of late. If he couldn't accomplish anything important, he could at least take a walk around the battlements before his command performance.

~.~.~

Harry was silent, trying to fade into the darkness outside the reach of the lights at the station. Nothing had happened at the station yet -- the carriages still stood waiting, the thestrals unusually calm.

He heard a faint sound, far away. It was the sound of a train traveling in the distance; the Hogwarts Express approaching the school. He drew back into the shadows, watching the train pull into the station.

It looked even longer than usual, and it was packed. He could make out shapes moving inside the dim cabins. As soon as it had stopped, the passengers started to disembark. They looked quite… big… for students. He watched as they moved towards the carriages, dismayed. He saw a few familiar faces amongst the carriages, a few that he would rather not see. Percy was there, his tall form and red hair setting him apart. There were probably people he would have liked to see less, but not many of them. He realized that even the Malfoys would have been more welcome. 

The carriages set off towards Hogwarts. Harry wondered what was going on. Could someone have figured out that he was coming? He smiled ruefully; he was assigning himself too much importance again. He doubted that anyone thought much of him anymore. After all, even Sirius had been forgotten fairly quickly at Hogwarts, after he stopped slashing up paintings in the middle of the night, and he'd been a much more impressive figure.

Harry had intended to enter by one of the secret passageways from Hogsmeade, but he was curious about the visitors. He didn't think that he should enter without knowing what he was getting into.

After the last carriage had left, the station lights went out. Harry took that as his cue to creep towards the school, although he had to keep stopping. The carriages were taking a long time to disembark their passengers.

Finally, the carriages were empty, and he could creep forwards once more. Harry thought it was probably past midnight, but the school still seemed alive. The visitors were bearing luggage, which the house-elves were taking in. Then he saw the banner, and remembered what Dumbledore had mentioned two years ago, when he'd asked him to take care of Hermione; the banner proclaimed, in letters three feet tall, that the annual Hogwarts Alumni event was ongoing. He hadn't thought that it would be this week. His invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.

Harry hoped that his dark robes and the Disillusionment Charm would be enough to find his way inside the walls without their notice. He saw that there was still a light on in Trelawney's tower, and hoped that meant that the Divination professor was at home. The windows were closed, though, so he wasn't going to enter that way. He saw another entrance, though. He could fly his broomstick up to the Astronomy Tower, and cut across from there. He didn't see any lights in those corridors, so he hoped that he could get through without running into anyone.

When the doors to Hogwarts had finally shut securely, and the house-elves had gotten the last of the luggage from the carriages, he decided it was time to put his plan into action.


	3. Readmissions

Chapter Three -- Readmission
    
    
    A fake fortuneteller can be tolerated. But an authentic
    soothsayer should be shot on sight. Cassandra did not get
    half the kicking around she deserved.
    -- R.A. Heinlein
    

Harry landed inside one of the lower floors of the Astronomy tower. He slung his broom across his back, a rope securely tied to each end to hold it in place. He missed his father's map -- he probably could have made another one based on his memories, but he couldn't afford the time or the materials.

The tower was deserted. He hadn't expected anyone to be there, but he had worried. All he needed was for one person to notice him, and the Aurors would be on him in an instant. He had survived Azkaban before, during his daring rescue of Ginny Weasley, but he had no interest in visiting there again.

Harry opened the door into the hallways carefully. He looked down the hallway, but didn't see anything that would cause trouble. He didn't know if the paintings would be able to sense him past the Disillusionment Charm, but he hoped that even if they did, they would be too apathetic to call in reinforcements.

He walked along towards the stairs, keeping close to the wall. The paintings didn't seem to care if he was there, although he caught one or two of them looking at him as he passed.

Harry was almost to the stairs, when he heard a loud sound behind him. An almighty crash resounded through the hallway, followed by the sound of something metal bouncing, rattling as it went. He looked, and saw a suit of armor on the ground. Peeves floated above it, smiling broadly. He waved at Harry, then started flying down the hallway.

Steps on the stairs echoed from below. "Peeves!" Argus Filch's voice echoed from below. Harry looked back -- there was nowhere good to hide back there. He started to run up the stairs.

Up ahead, Harry heard voices. He froze against the wall, and listened. It sounded like Cornelius Fudge. "Mister Devlin, it was quite good of you to come. It's such a shame the rest of your family couldn't make it today."

"Yes," said another voice, one that sounded familiar, "Well, most of my family really doesn't care much for the wizarding world, I'm afraid. My mother's decision to marry a Squib caused some tension, as you might imagine."

Harry heard Filch still running up the stairs. There was no reason for him to continue past the floor Harry had come in on, but he didn't seem to be stopping. Harry risked a glance around the corner -- he saw Fudge, there, talking with a man who looked much like Lucius Malfoy, although he wore a Muggle tuxedo in place of wizard's robes, and his hair was black.

Fudge seemed to be sweating profusely. Neither of the two were looking towards the stairway, and there was an open door just across the hall from him, with a darkened room on the other side. Harry decided to risk it, and ran, trying to keep his weight on the balls of his feet to avoid the sound of footfalls.

He almost slid into the room, then pushed himself against the wall. Listening, he heard Fudge and Devlin still talking, although they seemed to be moving away. He listened for few moments longer, straining to make sure that there was no one else nearby. He heard the sound of something like cloth, waving in the wind, and soft footsteps.

Looking out the doorway, he saw Professor Snape marching past. Snape had his normal sour expression on his face. Harry knew he couldn't afford for Snape to find him; the last time they had seen each other, they had not been on good terms. He doubted very much that they would be any better off, now.

After the footsteps had finished echoing, Harry walked out the door and up the stairs. He had just reached the next landing when he heard another crash from above, and Filch's shout from below. Harry turned down the hallway, and stepped into the first open door. There was a dim light on, but no movement. He didn't think anyone was there.

He was wrong. The room was small, not much bigger than a broom closet. The light came from a small magical globe on the wall, which dimly lit the lone occupant, who lay under white sheets on a small cot.

Harry stood there, staring at the boy. He was thirteen, Harry realized, since he'd last seen him when he was just turning twelve. The last two years had not been kind to the boy. His face was drawn, his arms, which lay atop the sheet, almost skeletally thin. "Falco," Harry murmured under his breath, looking at the boy. "I'm sorry."

The boy had a scar on his forehead. Harry wondered for a moment if it was a sign of the magic that had protected him, but looking more closely, he could see it was only a sign of where his head had hit the metal caldron on its way down. Harry wondered what would happen if Falco woke up. Would he hate the scar, as Harry hated his, as a sign of the event that had stolen his chance at a normal life? Would he consider himself marked by Harry? Years from now, would there be Dark Arts books with the face of Falco Von Hoek printed on them, as there had been with Harry's?

Harry didn't know. He also didn't know how long he stood there before he heard the sound of footsteps outside. Sniffing, he smelled a scent, the scent of pungent incense. Harry looked out the door -- the goal of his visit tonight, Sybil Trelawney, was walking past.

Harry looked out into the corridor as she passed, and saw no one. He thanked his good fortune for having found her away from the rest of the guests. Quickly, he leapt up behind her, putting his wand to the side of her head. "Come with me, now," he commanded, pulling her back into Falco's room.

"Potter?" Trelawney's eyes widened, "What are you doing here? Don't hurt me, please, I'll call for the Aurors."

"I'm not here to hurt you," Harry replied, "I'm here to ask you a few questions about a prophecy. One that seems to include me. I also want to know anything you can tell me about a tower that uses Dark Magic, and which is located on an island north of Scotland."

To his great surprise, Trelawney smiled. "I knew you would come to me one day, asking for advice. I had not forseen it would be so soon, however. I can help you, Potter, but I do not think you will like what I have to say."

Harry didn't doubt it, as he never had liked what she had to say before, but he impatiently motioned for her to go on. Whatever was going to come, he needed to know more to face it.


	4. From the Divination Professor's Mouth

Chapter Four -- From the Divination Professor's Mouth
    
    
    Ninety percent of the time things turn out worse
    than you thought they would. The other ten
    percent of the time, you had no right to expect
    that much.
    -- Augustine
    

"Yes," Trelawney confirmed, "I have heard of the tower. And I've heard of the prophecy that you've asked about, which confirms your rise to the position of a Dark Lord. I'm not surprised, really. My Inner Eye has always seen a bad end for you."

"And?" Harry asked, "Do you have anything you can tell me about this 'end'?"

"You'll know it when you see it," Trelawney snapped at him. "It should be enough to know that it will be bad, and it will be the end." Her voice trembled slightly as she said it.

"Ooh, that sounds spooky, Professor. Could you give me some more details, however?"

"Well, there was a prophecy that at some point, more than a thousand years after the founding of Hogwarts, a Dark Lord would arise. This Dark Lord would be subjected to the Orpheus curse, and would suffer from it, but would survive. He would become a member of the Ninth, whatever that is."

"The Ninth House of Durmstrang," Harry interjected, "That's why it was disbanded after the prophecy was given."

"I see," Trelawney said, "although of course, I could have seen that myself. The way of prophecies is that they are hard to defeat, and hard to work around. If you had died of the Orpheus curse, you simply would not have been the one in the prophecy. If someone sought to make you immune to it, you would find a new way to suffer. I presume that you found some way to become a member of this disbanded house?"

"Not by choice," Harry confirmed.

"Well, then, you've already fulfilled the larger elements. And, of course, you have cast all three of the Unforgivable Curses?"

Harry nodded, but said, defensively, "Not successfully, though. I've never killed anyone with the Killing Curse."

"That doesn't matter, Potter. It was successful in cursing Falco," she gestured at the immobile young boy, "even if he hasn't died from it yet. I don't think there are any other important parts of the prophecy before the choice."

"What choice?"

She snorted, "Personally, I think that the prophetess added it herself, to sooth the small minds of those who would read it. It doesn't make any sense. But the prophecy says that the 'Dark Lord to be' will be able to make one choice after the rest of the prophecy has been fulfilled, and if they choose wisely, they will be able to set aside their mantle, and avoid becoming the next Dark Lord. Sounds like rubbish to me -- as if they were some sort of groundhog, and just seeing their shadow would change the future. Complete nonsense."

"But... if it's not nonsense... what is the choice?"

"I don't know," Trelawney said impatiently. "I don't think anyone else does, either. All of the serious discussion has always revolved around the Ninth, and what that was, although apparently someone figured it out."

Harry nodded, "According to the secret version of the histories they kept at Durmstrang, the Headmasters there have always known. They chose to keep it quiet, though, in case anyone thought they could stop the prophecy by destroying Durmstrang."

Trelawney shook her head, her pointed nose in the air, "It wouldn't have worked, anyway. If it were a true prophecy, something else would have been the Ninth. It might have just been the ninth child, for example, although the seventh is usually the one that gets picked on in prophecies."

"Well, then," Harry said, "Is it necessarily me?"

"Probably," Trelawney hedged, "Usually, in this type of Prophecy, only one person meets all the requirements at a time. However, if you die without making the choice, it is possible that it will just pass to someone else, and that everyone will discover that he or she was the one that mattered all along."

"So I have to face this choice, whatever it is, and choose the right thing?"

"If the choice is really part of the prophecy, yes. However, since I don't believe that it is... I think it's too late. You're already him, the next Dark Lord. Now... don't kill me... please, I foresee that you'll meet a dire end if you do." Trelawney's voice was shaking. She sounded pitiful. Harry wanted to tell her that there was no reason to worry, but Falco's drawn face said otherwise.

"What about the Tower," he asked instead, "What's so special about the Tower? And why does Ginny know about it, when she doesn't know anything else?"

"I don't know," Trelawney admitted. "If the choice was real -- which it's NOT," she added quickly, "then it might be the place where you had to make the choice. The prophecy does mention it by name, after all."

"What about the Tower -- can it heal Ginny Weasley? Her mind is just about gone, thanks to the Dementors and the curse."

"Potter," a nasal voice came from the hallway, "I am surprised at you. I would think that you would at least have shut the door before undertaking an interrogation of a Hogwarts professor." With a smooth motion, Professor Snape stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Then again, I would have thought that you would have had the presence of mind to interrogate someone who could have actually told you something."

Snape had his wand out, pointed at Harry, but before Harry could react, the Professor smoothly slid his wand into his pocket, and put his hands out before him. "Well, Potter, it's your move." Snape looked expectant. Harry wondered what, exactly, he was expecting, and what Harry should deliver.

"Professor Snape, thank you for your help. Could you let the Professor answer my questions? I need to know what I can do for Ginny."

Snape's response was to quickly touch his wand to Trelawney's forehead. "Stupefy! Obliviate!" She fell to the ground, with a blank look on her face. Harry thought it fit her fairly well, but he was still upset.

Snape looked at him, "I don't know if the Tower will help heal your friend. It uses Dark Magic, and when you try to use Dark Magic to heal, there is always a price. However, if you want to help Miss Weasley, you'll need more than the suppositions of a biased, washed-up fraud. You will also need more than the judgment of a biased, burned-out Potions Master. That is fortunate, as you have no time for them now." He pulled a rolled up parchment out of a pocket of his robes, and handed it to Harry.

Harry unrolled it, and was surprised to recognize the Marauder's Map. "Where did you get this?"

"The Headmaster entrusted it to me to complete a task. However, I believe that you need it more than I, at the moment."

Harry looked down at the map. He could see it swarming with names, mostly in the Great Hall. A few, though, were coming in his general direction. Some of the names he recognized -- Moody and Tonks, among them. The Aurors were coming for him.

"It is time for you to leave, Mister Potter. I will try to distract them, but if I cannot, you may wish to make for one of the secret passages. They are all open now."

Harry nodded, and shoved the map into his own pocket. "Thanks, Professor Snape. Why are you doing this?"

Snape's face twisted into an unnatural looking smile. "I've made a few poor choices of my own, Potter."

Harry turned to leave, but Snape called out, hesitantly. "One more thing, Potter."

He turned back. Snape pulled a small box out of his robes. "It's currently under a reducing charm. Wait until you leave to enlarge it."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"My Pensieve," Snape responded. He wasn't meeting Harry's eyes, now. "There are some memories that I believe you should see in there."

"I think I've already seen enough," Harry snapped back.

Snape flinched. "Just take it," he said, "and be off." His voice sounded hoarse.

Harry took it, and left.

~.~.~

Snape closed the door to his office, grinning. This actually felt like him. Subterfuge, sneaking around, surprising people; these were all things he was good at, things that he enjoyed. He also realized that helping Harry out might actually make up for something he had done in the past, not just make a change for the future. While he respected Albus' belief that it was impossible for anyone to make up for all the wrongs in their life, he didn't think that he should avoid trying.

Turning from the door, the grin fell from his face. He wasn't alone. A dark figure stood in his room, wearing black robes, with a deep hood. "Professorin Snape," he said, in a deep, thickly accented voice, "I need your help on a matter of great importance."

Snape had his wand out before the figure had said his name, but the intruder seemed unperturbed. He decided to risk a question, "Could you tell me why I should consider helping you?"

"I think that you will find that it is in your own best interests," the intruder said, pulling back his hood.

Snape was shocked. "Viktor Krum? I had heard that you had been imprisoned."

Viktor smiled. "I am on what you might call a parole," he said.

"A parole," Snape replied, his voice even more nasal than before. "Does your government know about this arrangement?"

"No," Viktor answered, "and I do not care."

"I believe that they might feel differently," Snape said, still holding his wand straight at Krum.

Krum still didn't look like he cared, one way or another. "I am here to be talkink about Harry."

Snape snorted, "Why am I not surprised? Well, you can take yourself elsewhere. I will not aid in what you are planning."

"You do not know what I am planning," Viktor said, earnestly. "I have heard that you feel responsible for Harry. Is this not so? I have heard that you gave help to people who were seeking to help him, that it was you who helped his 'owl' to find its way to Durmstrang last year."

Snape looked at him in astonishment, "How do you know about that?"

"I have listened," Viktor said. After a moment, he confessed, sheepishly, "Although perhaps, not soon enough. I will admit that I was not a good friend to Harry last year. I must, to him, make this up."

Snape cocked his head, "The last I had heard, you didn't like Harry very much."

"That doesn't mean I want some brutish Auror to throw him in Azkaban," Viktor replied. "I could have said the same about you, however."

"I suppose I can see your point," Snape responded. "So, you are proposing that we can do something together, to help him?"

Viktor nodded. "First, however, I must find him. I believe that he is still under a spell. Girard, the man who has made life difficult for him recently, claimed that he had used magic to push Harry closer to his destiny."

"Are you suggesting that the choices that Harry has made in the last two years were not his own?"

"No," Viktor said. "But I do not know if the same will be said of the next choice that he makes. And that choice, it may pay for all."

A/N: In answer to some questions -- No, before anyone else even starts thinking about it, I will not simply change the timeline when this is all done or something like that. I may use Deus ex machina occasionally, but this is Harry Potter, not Star Trek -- no simple changing of the timelines allowed, without really heavy foreshadowing at the beginning of the story arc.

Lest anyone think that's a negative comment about those that do change timelines, it isn't. One of my favorite fics of all time is Barb's Harry Potter and the Time of Good Intentions, part of the Psychic Serpent Trilogy. She does it well, though, and sets it up as part of the story from the beginning, rather than grafting it on at the end -- which is what would happen if I just saved everyone in the last chapter.


	5. Interlude Weasleys

Chapter Five -- Interlude

"What else can he do?" Fred asked his father angrily. "He's in a rough spot, and whether or not it's his own fault, could you come up with a way for him to get out of it?"

"Quiet down, you git," George said, elbowing him, "You'll wake Mum."

Molly Weasley was already asleep. She seemed to do very little else since Ginny had been attacked during her last year at Hogwarts. She had nearly been shattered by the loss of her sixth son, Ron, and her family feared that she would never recover from the loss of her only daughter.

Arthur had been affected strongly by the events, as well. He had already been a workaholic, but he had only gotten worse since then. Coming home to the empty house, to the clock that was missing its hand for Ron, tore him apart, and he avoided leaving work each day as long as he could. His face looked old before its time, and his demeanor was serious, a serious change from the happy, jovial man that had helped raise seven children. He took a deep breath, biting down the angry words he had intended to say, and spoke softly. "I don't know. It's probably too late for him to do anything, at this point. The Prophet has stirred everyone up against him, and there's no love for him at the Ministry. And I can't say I feel any kinder towards him. Involving Ginny in the rescue of the Malfoys, after all they've done to her, is something I can never forgive."

Fred shook his head, "Dad, I don't think we know everything about that mess. Hermione said..."

"I don't care what Hermione Granger says," Arthur interrupted. "She's done just as much to hurt Molly as Harry has. As far as I'm concerned, she should have stayed gone."

"She didn't mean to hurt Mum," George said softly. "They both hurt each other a lot, after Ron died. You can't blame Hermione for not wanting to subject herself to that."

"She should have," Arthur said, firmly. "We were her family, too, she shouldn't have just turned us off."

"Dad, I don't think she saw it that way," George said, "Look, I've talked to her a little. Do you know what her and Mum were fighting about?"

"No, but it doesn't matter," Arthur said. He looked like he was pouting.

Fred put a warning hand on George's arm, but George waved it off. "Mum blamed Hermione for Ron's death. She told her point blank, along with a lot of other things. I don't think Hermione's still angry about it, but she isn't seeking Mum out, either. Can you blame her for not visiting for the holidays?"

Arthur sagged, looking down in defeat, "No, I suppose not. Molly said that?"

George nodded. "Hermione didn't want to talk to me about it. I think she blames herself, as well. I don't think she'll be any better until, well..." he trailed off.

Fred picked up the thread of conversation, "Until Harry and Ginny are back in the fold. And that brings us back to the question we started with. How can they come back?"

Arthur was hesitant, "There's something I hadn't told you, boys. I didn't want to burden anyone. It was bad enough seeing Ginny carried off, but I saw her once, after she was in Azkaban. They think the damage is permanent."

"Damage?" Fred asked.

Arthur nodded, and continued, staring at his hands. "The Dementors drained just about everything out of her, whatever the Orpheous curse hadn't pulled out of her already. She's not in her right mind. The Healers say that she's not synchronized with reality any more, she's totally unhinged from time."

His calm statements had knocked the wind right out of Arthur's sons. There was complete silence, until George finally spoke up. "Does Mum know?"

Arthur shook his head. "I couldn't bear to tell her."

"So, it's all hopeless, then?" Fred asked. "There's no way to get Ginny back? Harry's going to be on the run forever? That can't be."

George agreed, "I can't believe that there's no way to make everything right."

Arthur sighed, "Some things, you just can't make right. I saw people, after Ginny was attacked, people who tried to talk to me about something the Muggles call clothiers."

"I think it's closure, Da," Fred said.

Arthur shrugged, "Whatever. The Muggles keep thinking that there is always a way to fix everything, to make things neat and complete. I don't think there is, this time."

Fred and George were stunned. They had never heard their father speak so derisively of any Muggle thought, let alone at such a low point.

"There has to be a way," George said, sounding like he was trying as hard to convince himself as his family. "I don't know what it is yet, but I'm sure there's a way for all of this to work out."

"Suppose," Fred said, "Just suppose that Harry were to turn himself in. What would happen to him?"

"He probably wouldn't get Kissed by a Dementor," Arthur said, "He would probably just be sent to prison for life. They might give him and Ginny adjoining cells."

"Well, is there some legal loophole that we can use?" George asked. "Something like the way that Narcissa kept out of jail, for all those years."

"No, I don't think so," Arthur said. "Harry has been involved in too much to get away without paying. The scales always balance in the end."

Fred spoke up hesitantly, "Well, what if Falco were to recover? I know it's not likely to happen."

Arthur snorted, "Not likely, that's putting it mildly. They wouldn't even take him at St. Mungo's, because they didn't want to waste the room. They have too many people still suffering from the last days of Voldemort, to waste room on someone who's spirit-dead."

George asked his father, "Did they end up deciding for sure that he was? Sprit-dead, I mean?"

Arthur shook his head, "They seem to think so, but it's hard to tell. Most of the time, someone that reaches that point acts like they've been kissed by a Dementor."

"But, if Falco were to get better," Fred asked, hopefully, "do you think that the whole thing would just go away?"

"I don't think it would go away," Arthur said, "but it might save Harry from life imprisonment, assuming he would turn himself in, and assuming we can find the Malfoys. Of course, then there are those that will claim he used other Unforgiveables, in rescuing Ginny and Lucius. They haven't bothered with a trial for those yet, because he's already under sentence, but they are sure to bring them up again if it Harry looks like he will go free."

"So, there's no hope," George said, echoing the tenor of his father's thoughts. "I still can't believe that."

"Well," Arthur said, "I'd rather say that I can't see any hope. That doesn't mean that it isn't there, however. I never thought that Professor Snape would become one of your best customers, either."

"So," Fred asked, "what's being done to help Falco?"

"Not much," Arthur said. "I don't think there's much impetus to try, either. After all, his parents were arrested in their attack on Durmstrang, so there's no one to pay for taking care of him. And the Healers who would normally work on charity cases are too busy to take him on. There's not much public sentiment in his favor, and besides, no one thinks they could do anything for him anyway." Arthur seemed to be actually thinking about the problem, rather than just brooding about it. George felt better already -- whether or not they saved Harry, if they could save their parents from their depression, that would be a miracle.

"How do we start helping him, then?" George asked.

"I'm not sure," Arthur said, starting to look interested, "but I can begin by finding out what they've already tried. I'll talk to Dumbledore in the morning, and see what I can find out."

"If there's anything we can do," Fred said, looking at Arthur, "please let us know. We can put the full weight of Weasley Wizard Wheezes behind finding a cure for Falco."

"I may have to take you up on that," Arthur said. "I'll make sure to let you know."

"Thanks, Dad," Fred and George said in unison. They looked at each other -- if there was any way to get their parents back to normal, they would do anything it took. Now they just had to figure out how they could contribute.


End file.
